


Apricity

by shobogan



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shobogan/pseuds/shobogan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dark cave on a hostile world, Turlough, Tegan and Nyssa huddle for warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apricity

They're lost on a world rent with war, separated from the Doctor in the midst of a riot come battle. Apparently, this is par for the course, and the women are calmer than he'd have expected; they run with long, determined strides, letting fear fuel instead of foil them. 

He, too, has experience taking cover as bodies fall and bullets fly; it is he who spots the small cave, who shows them how to manoeuvre through the narrow opening, conceal it without losing air. 

Now, they shiver and sigh and wonder and wait; for how long, they don't know. This, too, all of them are accustomed to.

He sits near the entrance, wincing at the sharp squalls of wind that make their way through. Nyssa and Tegan are pressed together against the end of the cave; he can just make them out in the dim red glow that filters through.

Fortunately, that they can't see the frustration that twists his features. 

He can't make sense of them. Two aliens, opposite in so many ways, who trust each other implicitly; who can entwine their fingers in the dark, and take comfort in it. Is it truly sincere? Is it the Doctor's influence? Innocent or sinister, genuine or manipulative? (That man is an enigma in himself; he might well be dead by now, and Turlough should hope for that, he truly should.)

"Hey. Turlough." Tegan's voice cuts harshly through his thoughts, as it is wont to do. Her tone is that infuriating mix of scorn and interest, wariness and concern. 

"What?" An irritable snap, defensive and petulant. 

Nyssa's gentle voice soothes him immediately, if slightly; it's irritating, how she does that. 

"We thought you might be cold." 

He starts to huff out a rebuttal, but his lips are dry and his face is numb and he can _feel_ that coolly perceptive gaze.

"Come here, please." He can just about see her reaching out a hand. After a moment, he crawls towards them, and deft fingers pull him closer still. He finds himself snug between them, shivering against their welcome warmth. 

"It was worse than I thought," Nyssa murmurs, and begins to rub his hand; with an audible sigh, Tegan takes the other. Slowly, he begins to relax. 

Then, all of a sudden, "He has nice hands, you know. Pianist hands."

"You don't need long fingers to play the piano, Tegan."

"Oh, you know what I mean. They're soft, too, like the Doctor's."

"And what do you know about the Doctor's hands," Turlough says wryly. Tegan lightly smacks one of his.

"Have to hold on to him, you know, or else – well, _this_."

"It's not so bad," Nyssa replies; her hands have glided up to massage his arm, now, and soon Tegan's follow suit. "I think it's good for the three of us to spend some time together."

"Yeah, I guess the Doctor wouldn't like me shoving him into the Vortex, so we might as well get on." Turlough almost yanks his arm away, before he sees a hint of a smile; Nyssa must as well, for the reprimand dies on her lips. "I'll admit you came through for us this time. Could be the Doctor was right."

Turlough closes his eyes for a moment - against their smiles, against their affection, against their trust. He doesn't deserve it, and they'll realise it soon enough, when he tears their family apart.

Is it a family, or something else entirely? He certainly can't tell with the Doctor, if he even has any sexuality to speak of, but these two – 

He shivers in an entirely different kind of way when Tegan's hand trails up his neck, her fingernails scratching just slightly. 

He realises that they were speaking, as he contemplated his treachery, in lower, smoother, softer voices; they've made a decision. 

Nyssa's hand slides over his trousers to grasp Tegan's once more, and he's trapped there, in an embrace of heat and comfort and lies. 

A sigh leaves his lips as Tegan nips at one cheek and Nyssa nuzzles the other, one of aching resignation. 

He's weak all the time; surely he can be weak for something good, for once.


End file.
